Buried Secrets

by Margaret Daley

  “The expedition to the Amazon is important. Don’t forget that. I’ll do what I can to help, but you’re still the one heading it. The backers are funding it because of that.” Ray rose. “I think I do want something to drink.” When Zach made a move toward the kitchen, his friend said, “Sit. Rest. I know my way around. I’ll get it.”

  When his associate left them alone, Maggie said, “He knows about the codices. Who else have you told?”

  “He was with me when I discovered the break-in at my grandfather’s. I never told him about the diary.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Nor the fact I have a copy of the map.”

  “Before you take me home, let me look at your head.” She needed to put space between them, but the doctor in her wouldn’t let her not offer to check out his cut.

  “I’m fine.” Zach waved her off and started to stand.

  “I seem to remember you telling me you’d let me look at you later. Well, for your information, later is here. Now.”

  Coming to his feet, Zach towered over her. His gaze trapped hers. She found herself rising and standing so close to him that his scent surrounded her. Her heartbeat surged.

  “Are you all right? I noticed you limping a little,” he said.

  His tender look trekked down to her parched throat. She swallowed several times before answering, “I’m fine, and this little diversion won’t change my mind. I want to check you out before we leave.” She forced a lightness into her voice, even though the situation between them was quickly becoming serious, the connection they shared strengthening.

  He smiled. “You can’t blame a guy for trying. I’ve never been fond of going to the doctor.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” she said with a laugh. “Doesn’t change my mind. Do you have a first-aid kit?”

  “Yes, I’ll get it.”

  Light-headed, Maggie lowered herself onto the couch. Until he’d left the room, she hadn’t realized she hadn’t taken a decent breath since they had faced each other. Inhaling deeply now, she scanned the living room, trying to get a sense of the man who had taken over her life so effectively in the past day.

  The colors of the room were the tan of the desert and the green of the barrel cactus. Beneath her feet was a beautifully woven Navajo Indian rug, worth a small fortune. The room was neat and orderly, much like her house except hers had a lived-in look while his didn’t. She got the impression he was rarely home. Again she thought of a museum as her regard took in his possessions.

  “Okay, let’s get this over with.” Zach sat next to her and gave her the first-aid kit. “Did I mention I hate going to the doctor?”

  “Yes. Too bad.”

  She managed to block from her mind to whom she attended as she checked his gash, cleaned it then placed a bandage over it. If she hadn’t been able to block him from her mind, she was sure she would have been in trouble. Zach Collier was just too much for her to handle at this time in her life. She had everything mapped out for herself. Her career and new practice were what was most important at the moment. She had spent years becoming a doctor, with she and her grandfather both making sacrifices to pay for medical school. Maybe in a few years, when she was more established, she could think about something other than being a doctor. Who was she kidding? She knew the real reason she didn’t focus on her personal life, and it had nothing to do with her profession. How long was she going to let what had happened between her and Brad Wentworth dictate what she did with her life?

  “Well, what’s the verdict, Doc?”

  “Oh, I’d say at least another fifty thousand miles.” She shoved thoughts of Brad back into the far reaches of her mind.

  “That’s comforting, since this bod may get a lot of wear and tear in the near future.”

  “You really are going to pursue this?” She looked him directly in the eye.

  “Yes.” All the tenderness in his expression vanished, and a ruthless determination appeared in its place. “To the end, Maggie. I won’t let these people get away with what they did to our grandfathers.”

  She wanted to believe him in that moment—almost did. Except, for over thirty years she had been raised to hate, and especially never to trust, anyone with the last name Collier. There was a small part of her that still doubted him even after the brake failure. She felt that if she believed him she was betraying Gramps. “How will you pursue it, Zach?”

  Raking his hand through his hair, he rose to prowl the room. “I don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll find the clue in the map, after all.”

  “But you said your grandfather studied it for years and could never find the answer.”

  “I know. He thought he could break the code. If those people hadn’t gotten the diary, we might be able to figure out the mystery of the codices.”

  She busied herself putting the bandages and medicine back into the first-aid kit, while the scent of coffee drifted toward her. Something was going on. She didn’t doubt that anymore. But she had no idea who was behind it. It could still be Zach. The one thing she did know was that she wasn’t equipped to solve the mystery of the codices by herself. If anything was going to be done, it would have to be done as a team.

  A team. The words vibrated in her mind, conjuring up images of she and Zach working closely together, his thoughts hers, his actions a perfect mirror of hers. A warmth suffused her and made her hands quiver as she closed the lid on the kit and set it on the end table.

  I hope I’m not making a big mistake. She inhaled a deep breath to fortify herself and said, “Zach, I have something to tell you.”

  He stopped pacing and faced her. Although his expression became unreadable, his body grew taut.

  “I have the diary,” she whispered. She clutched the arm of the couch and waited for his wrath.

  He closed the space between them, his gaze straying toward the kitchen. “Where?” The deadly quiet of his voice unnerved her more than if he had shouted the question.

  “My grandfather gave it to me on my thirtieth birthday. I used to keep it in my armoire.”

  “Used to?”

  She hated the way he stared at her with no emotion in his features, in his voice. “This afternoon, before I came to Albuquerque, I put it in a safety-deposit box.”

  He turned toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “I’m taking you home. There isn’t anything more we can do tonight.”

  “What about the diary? I thought you wanted it.”

  He whipped around to confront her, his expression no longer blank but full of fury, all directed at her. “What do you suggest I do? Break into the bank to get it?”

  “No.”

  He walked back to her. “Do you want me to applaud you for being such a good liar? I actually believed they had the journal.”

  The full force of his rage bombarded her—although his voice had never risen above a whisper—as he came to a halt in front of her. She released her grip on the arm of the couch and craned her neck upward until their gazes clashed. “I didn’t lie,” she said. “The diary wasn’t at my grandfather’s.”

  “Oh, I see. You like to play word games.” He invaded her space completely, hovering over her. “What other games do you like to play?”

  The fire of her anger matched his as she stood so he wouldn’t have the advantage of height—well, at least not as badly as when she sat. “Just when I thought there could be more to a Collier than Gramps thought, you’ve taken care of any delusions on my part. Why do you think I kept it a secret? Do you think I’m stupid enough to hand it over to you with no questions asked? Colliers take. You obviously fit the mold, like Red.”

  His cold eyes narrowed, holding an intensity that she had never encountered before. His dark, hawklike features twisted into a grimace that iced her blood. “If you’re comparing me to my grandfather, then I accept the compliment. And, yes, I do take what I want. If you’re not willing to fight for your beliefs, then you’ll always be dissatisfied with life. I wouldn’t
want to end up a bitter old man who lives in the past.”

  His contemptuous words, directed at her grandfather, struck low and hard, choking off her next breath. “And in the process forget honor? The ends justify the means? Is that the Collier motto?”

  “One thing is obvious. Your grandfather’s account of the past is quite different from my grandfather’s.”

  “The difference is the difference between the truth and lies.”

  The rigidity in his lean, contorted frame transmitted the force of his fury. “I can see I was wrong to think we could work together on this.”

  “All you want from me is the diary. Nothing else matters.”

  He stared into her eyes for a long, suspended moment, his gaze an almost physical touch. “Believe what you want. I don’t care.” He strode toward the entry hall. “I’ll drive you home now. Ray, we need to leave,” he shouted toward the kitchen.

  All emotions were gone from his voice as he opened the front door and waited for her and his friend to exit. Maggie walked beside Ray, who held a mug of coffee. Zach locked his house then followed, staying ten feet behind them.

  “Where it involves his granddad, he feels strongly.” Zach’s friend said, then sipped his hot drink.

  “So, you heard.” Did Ray know about the diary now?

  “Some. I thought it best to hide out in the kitchen until things calmed down.”

  “Wise.” But Zach and she hadn’t been wise when they had let their tempers get the better of them. How much had they revealed to Ray concerning the existence of the journal?

  Zach said nothing to her when he finally slid into the cab and drove to Ray’s house to drop off his friend. On the hour-long trip to Santa Fe, the silence eroded her spurt of anger. She realized that if they wanted to solve the mystery they would have to work together, even with neither trusting the other completely. They couldn’t do it alone. Each had half of the puzzle—if the legend was to be believed.

  On the outskirts of the town, she gave Zach directions to her house, still no closer to deciding whether to give him the diary or not. She peered at him, limned against the city lights, his face stern, his shoulders set in grim lines. The play of shadows over his features made him appear implacable, and in that moment she did believe he got what he wanted—always.

  When he parked in her driveway, he glared straight ahead while he waited for her to leave. She started to tell him he could have the diary, that she was just too tired and confused to deal with the mystery, but the words wouldn’t come out. She remained silent and descended from the cab.

  Exhausted, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, she limped to her porch, unlocked her door and stepped inside. She dropped her purse on a console table, then switched on the living-room light by the entrance. She stared at the man before her, all in black, wearing a ski mask. Fear immobilized her momentarily. When she whirled around to run, he leaped on her and roped her to him while his gloved hand clamped her scream in her mouth.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the little lady of the house.”

  FIVE

  The hiss of the man’s words, accompanied by his garlic-laced breath, paralyzed Maggie with fear, draining what strength she had left. She struggled to drag air into her lungs, to imbue energy into her numb body, but his large black-gloved hand about her mouth and nose cut off her attempts to inhale. Darkness hovered at the edge of her mind, inching closer with each second the man held her trapped against his bulk in the entry hall.

  Fight!

  She tried to clear the dark mist, to twist away, but her muscles wouldn’t respond to the command from her groggy mind. Then the thug’s hand slipped slightly lower, allowing oxygen to rush into her lungs for a few precious seconds.

  “Where’s the diary?” he demanded.

  The heat of panic infused the cold dread, crushing her chest and causing a constriction about her that had nothing to do with the man imprisoning her. Zach was gone; she was alone with this goon and the diary wasn’t here.

  Think!

  “I won’t have to hurt you if you’ll just give it to me.” The man began to haul her toward the living room.

  Her feet scraped across the tile floor as she went limp in his arms, hoping her deadweight would slow him down. It didn’t. She grappled for options. None came to mind.

  “Cooperate and you’ll live to breathe another day.”

  The threat, spoken next to her ear, chilled her as though she’d plunged into a glacier-filled sea. “Take your hand away,” she mumbled into his palm, realizing he wouldn’t be able to understand her words. Bile rose in her throat at the taste of his leather glove.

  “What?” he demanded. In one fluid motion he spun her around so she faced him, and shoved her up against the wall by the entrance to the living room, while she gasped for air. Then, using his body to pin her against the wood paneling, he clasped his hand over her mouth again. Everything had happened so fast she hadn’t had time to react, to scream.

  “What did you say?” He pressed himself into her, a sneer—as though he took pleasure in intimidating her—appearing through the slit where his mouth was.

  All she saw was his white teeth flash, and his blue eyes, the color of a periwinkle, glitter with malice. She lowered her gaze to his fingers, still over her mouth. “Take your hand away,” she mumbled again with all the force she could muster.

  “You try anything, you’ll regret it.” He eased the pressure on her mouth, wariness clouding his gaze. “So, where is the diary?”

  Go for the eyes. She remembered that from some article she’d read on self-defense.

  She wilted against the wall as though she had no energy left to remain standing. He automatically went to hold her up. She gulped in a deep breath, then screamed, the sound ripped from her gut. At the same time she shoved at his massive weight and jammed her fingers toward his eyes, striking one, missing the other.

  The thug cursed. He jerked her hands down and slammed her up against the paneling. Her head hit it with a thud. Dazed, she blinked. The watery blue of his eyes, then his snarling teeth, came into view in the black sea of his mask.

  “You like to play rough?”

  The sinister questions slithered down her like a serpent. Drawing on a well of hidden strength, she thrashed and flailed, struggling to break free of his ironclad hold. Her feeble attempts did nothing but cause the man to mash himself into her, flattening her against the wall until she couldn’t breathe.

  His hideous laughter ricocheted around in her mind like a bullet gone haywire. His garlic breath assaulted her senses, jamming a choking lump in her throat.

  “Gonna fight me? That’s okay. I like to play rough, too. Adds some excitement to a dull, routine job.”

  Dull, routine job? She wanted to laugh hysterically at the man’s description of what he was doing. But that irrational impulse quickly fled, to be replaced with sheer terror. It leaked through the haze that blanketed her mind.

  “I brought Betsy with me for just this kind of thing. Don’t go anywhere without my knife.” One hand released her arm while the other continued to press into her mouth.

  She looked down and saw him fumbling in his pocket. Oh, no! She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling trapped, as if she were in a cave-in, with tons of rocks on top of her and no way to escape.

  The blare of the doorbell sliced into the air. Her eyes bolted open.

  Her assailant glanced toward the front door. When the bell rang again, he shifted his bulk slightly, his fingers still in his jeans pocket. The movement eased the pressure on her mouth. She bit down on the pad of his other hand. He jerked away as his gaze flew back to her face. She screamed and shoved at him. He slapped her, knocking her head to the side. Pain swirled in the dark corners of her mind.

  In the next instant, the front door burst open and crashed against the wall. The thug finished pulling the switchblade from his pocket as he swiveled to meet the new threat entering the house. Maggie scrambled away before the thug decided to use her as a huma
n shield. Her attention fastened on to Zach Collier, who filled her foyer with his large presence. She had never been so thankful to see someone before.

  “Okay?” Zach asked Maggie, while he kept his attention trained on the man between her and himself.

  “Yes,” she mumbled through lips that already felt swollen from the blow. Trying to ignore the throbbing ache where she had been struck, she worked her jaw, then wiped a trickle of blood from her chin with her finger.

  Not once did Zach’s gaze stray from the goon who was as tall as he was, fifty pounds heavier and with his knife in hand. Zach eyed the man as though gauging his prowess. The metal of the blade caught the light and glinted.

  Suddenly Maggie’s assailant rushed toward Zach. She gasped. Zach kicked at the arm that held the knife, and the blade went sailing from the thug, clanging across the tiles in the entrance, toward the hallway to the bedrooms. For a few seconds the man paused, weaponless. Then he continued forward, barreling into Zach in the middle of the foyer. They flew across the entry hall and thundered against the far wall. A picture fell to the floor at the same time the two men did, the crashing sound vying with their grunts.

  She needed to call the police. She rushed to the phone and snatched it up. No dial tone. She tossed the plastic receiver down and looked about for her purse with her cell phone in it. Then she remembered it was in the foyer, on the table by the front door where she’d dropped it when she’d come in.

  Against the backdrop of the sounds of the scuffle, Maggie frantically scanned the living room behind her for any kind of weapon she could use on the assailant. When she spied a vase close by, she hurried to it. A groan from Zach urged her to move faster as she clasped the piece of porcelain and spun toward the fight, now close to the door.

  Zach was on top, and he pummeled his fist into the man’s face. The thug moaned and bucked, causing them to roll again. They banged into a table in the foyer, sending Maggie’s purse falling to the floor. Its contents scattered across the tiles.